


Mac and Dennis Celebrate the New Year

by glennjaminhow



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Caretaking, Fireworks, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, New Years, Sickfic, Soft Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: Dennis takes care of Mac during the New Year.





	Mac and Dennis Celebrate the New Year

**December 31st**  
**7:30 PM**  
**Philadelphia, PA**

He’s sleeping under Mac’s leather jacket.

Mac’s jacket.

Fuck.

He blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning. He kicks Mac’s jacket away. Bullshit. This is such fucking bullshit. He barely remembers last night, but, based off what he does remember - topless hotties and titties flopping and tons of Jell-O shots and Dee throwing up on Charlie's shoes - he can surmise that someone hauled him up here. The someone better be passed the fuck out because Dennis Reynolds does not sleep on the floor. He certainly doesn’t sleep under Mac’s leather jacket.

Dennis knows he’s fucked up in more ways than one, but he’s not that fucked up. It’s absurd. This is absurd, and, quite frankly, really irritating.

The floor of their apartment is spotless, minus the bottle of whatever hard alcohol he - or they - consumed and an empty Capri Sun pouch. Dennis glances around for water, but the sink is far away, and the fridge is far away, and, Jesus Christ, why the fuck did he get so hammered last night? His skin is surely fucked up; Dennis knows Mac and Charlie both enjoy drawing dicks on his face when he’s plastered, which is ridiculous because they’re grown ass men.

Between the overwhelming thirst and the sleeping on the fucking floor and Mac’s jacket, Dennis makes the connection: Mac didn’t take him to bed last night.

Mac always takes him to bed.

If Dennis dozes off on the couch, Mac guides him to the bedroom. If Dennis has an episode - rage or depression or insomnia, whatever the case may be - then Mac physically makes Dennis stay in bed by holding him down; Dennis sort of likes that, and he likes it even more when Mac falls asleep with his nose buried in Dennis’ shoulder. When Dennis is sick, like he is right now with a nasty winter cold that came out of fucking nowhere, Mac tucks him in and keeps his distance because he knows Dennis can’t stand being touched, especially when he’s feverish.

So, really, what the fuck? Did Mac just dump him out here without thinking?

Did Mac even come home with him?

Shit. He can’t remember.

Dennis massages his temples before standing up on shaky knees. He needs Tylenol and sleep and water and maybe one of those popsicles Mac got from the store the other day; his throat hurts. He kicks off his shoes because of course he’s still wearing them, grabs an actual fucking blanket, thank you very much, off the couch, and drapes it over his shoulders as he stumbles into his bedroom, which is conveniently where he finds Mac.

Mac’s snoring is atrocious. It shatters Dennis’ eardrums. He’s only wearing boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt, and Dennis can totally see each individual muscle in his back. His clothes are in a discarded pile on the floor, covered in glitter and ruining the hardwood below. Dennis clenches his jaw. Fuck, Mac didn’t even shower before climbing under Dennis’ comforter. He didn’t brush his teeth or get that fucking stupid gel out of his hair, or, fucking fuck, even bother to help Dennis lay down in bed too. His back’s fucked up now thanks to Mac.

“Dude,” Dennis grates out, voice hoarse from copious amounts of alcohol. “Get outta my bed.”

Mac’s a fairly light sleeper; Dennis knows this from both experience and his dossier on Mac he started when they were 16. A snore gets stuck in his throat, and he coughs as he rolls onto his back, tugging the covers up over his hardened nips. Dennis bites his lower lip. Mac scratches his head, probably getting fucking dandruff on his pillowcases and shit.

“Go ‘way, Den… Head hurts…” Mac whispers.

Dennis’ legs are trembling way too much for this garbage. He squishes himself between Mac and the nightstand until Mac finally gets the hint and scoots his ass. “Yeah, no fucking shit, Einstein. You’re hungover, and you’re in my bed.”

Mac sniffles and coughs again, and it’s wet and gross and… fuck. It reminds Dennis of how he’s spent the last few days himself, congested and exhausted and aching.

“Please be quiet, Mac mumbles before gripping on to his hair and clenching his jaw. He shivers through a bout of pain. Dennis sits back up and contemplates leaving because he isn’t in the mood to deal with this. Mac didn’t even take him to bed last night. Maybe if Mac had taken care of him, his neck and back wouldn’t be sore, and he wouldn’t be dangerously dehydrated.

Christ, he’s bitter.

Dennis shakes his head at himself and sighs.

“Headache?” Dennis questions, trying to hide the irritation in his voice, which is really hard, by the way, because he is indeed irritated beyond belief. He’s incredibly tense, and not even the hummingbirds he’s currently doing can calm him down because sick people are gross, but a sick Mac is the worst. He cries and gets these bad migraines, and it makes Dennis cry sometimes too.

Mac doesn’t move his head. “Yeah… Think I got your cold too…”

He sneezes. Dennis flinches and dies a little on the inside.

Serves him fucking right for leaving Dennis, who is still sick himself, on the cold, hard floor beneath a measly leather jacket in the living room all night.

Dennis gets to his feet, swaying and rubbing his eyes again before heading into his bathroom. He has to piss and wants to brush his teeth, but he grabs the bottle of Excedrin Migraine and Mac’s heating pad instead. Dennis used to put hot towels on Mac’s neck to help relieve some of the pressure, but he bought this heating pack thing at Walgreens a couple years ago, and it’s like he saved Mac’s life or some shit when he came home with it. Mac kissed him. Dennis ignored it.

Mac takes the medicine and rolls onto his side, breathing heavily through his mouth as Dennis drapes the pack over his neck. Dennis tugs the comforter over his shoulder and places a full box of tissues beside Mac. Dennis would go into the living room or to the bar or some place else so Mac can sleep this off, but his feet and brain just won’t work anymore. He curls up facing away from Mac with the couch blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

He almost smiles when Mac sighs contently in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

**11:00 PM**

Dennis guzzles two bottles of ice cold water from the fridge the moment he drags himself off the soft mattress and out of Mac’s arms. He wipes his runny nose with a napkin and hisses because the skin is still very raw. Dennis showers and puts on pajama pants and one of Mac’s oversized hoodies. He feels a little more awake and a little less dead, so he turns his attention to Mac, who is sprawled out and snoring and hogging so much of the bed Dennis couldn’t lay down even if he wanted to. Go fucking figure.

He microwaves the rest of the homemade chicken noodle soup Mac forced him to eat yesterday, pours a tall glass of orange juice, and grabs the mostly empty bottle of NyQuil from the coffee table. Mac’s eyes are on the brink of closing once Dennis comes back into the bedroom, but he sits up wordlessly, coughing and stretching as Dennis fluffs the pillows and places a tray on his lap.

Dennis rests against the headboard, blanket pulled up to his chin and eyes drooping. He glances over at Mac. The soup’s almost gone. The glass is empty. Mac stares at the NyQuil suspiciously.

“Take the meds, dude,” Dennis instructs.

Mac coughs harshly, which is all the more reason for him to take the damn medicine. “What if you need it?” he whispers, and, Christ, why does he have to look so fucking small?

Dennis holds back a sigh. “I don’t need it, Mac. You need it, so take it.”

Mac’s hands shake really badly when he’s sick, especially when he has a headache, so Dennis pours the dose - and then adds a little more because Mac looks seriously miserable - for him. Mac downs it like a shot, grimacing and wincing. Dennis moves the tray to the nightstand, and Mac immediately settles down. Mac’s so… weird like this. The dude’s constantly rambling about false safety precautions and Project Badass and shit, craving approval from Dennis with his puppy dog eyes. Without Mac’s words, Dennis’ God Hole is emptier than ever.

Dennis swallows thickly, his mind and body numb.

Mac’s drifted off, and he’s half asleep too when he hears sharp repeated bangs echoing throughout the apartment. Mac jolts and plugs his ears with his fingertips. Dennis jumps to his feet and scrambles around for a weapon. He holds a baseball bat to his chest as he searches around the living room and kitchen. His eyes widen, and, fuck, he’s such an idiot.

“Dude, it’s the New Year. It’s just fireworks,” Dennis tells Mac.

But it falls on deaf ears.

Mac buries himself beneath the blankets, head and all. Dennis has this terrible cold too, so he knows firsthand that Mac can’t breathe out of his nose, that it’s stifling and uncomfortable with all that extra padding. Dennis dims the lamp on his nightstand and rounds the corner of the bed. He kneels down in front of Mac, pushing the covers and Mac’s hair out of his face. He’s feverish and shaking beneath his touch.

“Talk to me, Mac. What’s going on?”

Mac inhales sharply, shivering and snotting on Dennis’ pillowcases, but Dennis’ heart fills to the brim with worry, not rage, so it works out for both of them. “Hurts.”

“Your head?”

Mac nods once. “Bad. Fireworks.”

“The fireworks are making it worse?”

Mac covers his ears when more fireworks light off close by. Sweat drips from his forehead.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Dennis instantly closes his bedroom off from the rest of the world out there. He grabs extra pillows and blankets from his closet and covers the base of the doors and windows, layering them carefully so they stand tall and block out some of the noise. He can still hear the fireworks in the distance. The loud, explosive bangs are more like small thuds, footsteps in the sand.

He invites himself into Mac’s comforter cocoon, wrapping his arm around Mac’s trembling waist and holding him as close as possible. Tears stain Dennis’ skin in seconds, and he frowns when Mac forms a death grip on the hoodie.

“Shh… Shh, baby boy. Crying will make your head hurt more.”

Mac sniffles and breathes erratically and starts to hyperventilate. Dennis gulps, a hopeless feeling riddling thoughts, exposing emotions he didn’t exactly know he had, but he just holds Mac tighter and rubs his back and tries everything he can think of to make him feel better. He tries to remember how Mac calms him down during bad times, but usually Dennis is so fucked up he can’t recall anything once it’s over.

“Breathe with me, Mac,” Dennis whispers. He inhales and exhales slowly enough to make Mac’s chest stop pounding so hard, but not slow enough to hurt. Mac mimics him wordlessly, muscles contracting and body tight from fighting the pain. “Breathe, baby boy. Just breathe…”

“Don’t feel good, Den…” Mac whimpers. He’s burning up.

Dennis plants a dozen - maybe even more - soft kisses on Mac’s forehead, cheeks, in his hair. “I know. I know. You’ll feel better soon.”

He watches tears stream silently down Mac’s face.

Long after the fireworks stop, long after Mac’s crying ceases, long after Mac falls asleep, Dennis keeps holding him, afraid to let go.

 

* * *

 

**January 1st**  
**12:30 PM**

 “One more bite,” Dennis says, slightly nuding Mac’s elbow with his own.

Mac glares at him harmlessly. “Pretty sure that’s ‘posed to be my line to you, Den.”

He takes two more slurps of soup and grins widely at Dennis.

“Good job, bud. How’s the head? Scale of 1 to 10?”

“Like a 6… Maybe a 7. I dunno. I kinda just wanna crash…”

“No problem,” Dennis says quietly. He takes the tray, turns on the humidifier, and thinks about the dishes piling in the sink.

“Um… Den?”

Dennis stops and turns around. “Yeah, dude?”

“Can you lay with me?” Mac asks softly, sheepishly. “Y’know, just til I fall asleep?”

Dennis sets the tray on his dresser and slips under the comforter wordlessly. In a heartbeat, he wraps himself around Mac, who is warm from a feverish slumber and smells of sweat and NyQuil. Dennis tells himself he’s still mad at Mac for not taking him to bed the other night. He tries to tell himself a lot of things, but he just looks at Mac, whose brownie eyes are hidden in Dennis’ neck, his lips parted against Dennis’ skin.

“Thank you, Den…” Mac whispers.

Dennis kisses Mac’s forehead, rubs his back with his fingertips, listens as Mac’s heavy breathing turns into snores.

“Get some rest, baby boy.”


End file.
